


We Could Be

by CrispiCrunch



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Reconciliation, i highkey have no idea how to tag, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 10:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11645007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrispiCrunch/pseuds/CrispiCrunch
Summary: Hero!Evan fucks up and tries to reconcile with Villain!Delirious after said villain tries to rekindle their relationship





	1. Chapter 1

"I don't get it," Marcel said, pacing back and forth in the conference room. The map of Los Santos was behind him, red circles marked select areas with photographs of crime scenes and ruins pinned next to them. He stopped in front of one photo: _Two Days, Night Owl, 6:00 pm_ written in blue spray paint on fallen rubble from the First National Bank.

Two days already passed since.

Evan, seated in a chair in front, kept his eyes on his notepad, drawing deliberate circles and coils. Something to keep him distracted. He couldn't look up.

"It's been two years since Delirious disappeared off the face of the earth, and all of a sudden he's back wrecking havoc for a week straight." Marcel pulled the photo from the pin and placed it on the table. "What does this mean?"

Brock took the photo instead. "We don't have much time to figure this out. It's already 5:30."

"Delirious' sporadic as usual, what else is new?" Tyler rubbed his face. "He's already taken everything that he could've possibly taken, what does he want?"

"Evan, what did he say to you?" Marcel turned to the man, and Evan tried not to look startled when he looked back at his friend. He tapped his pen on his notepad and shrugged.

"Nothing, really. Just, the same," he said, clearing his throat as he glanced at the clock. 5:32. The second hand ticked with agony. "Hey, listen. This is probably a bad time, but I have a date I gotta go to, so..." He slowly pushed his chair back and stopped only because Tyler glared at him from across the table.

"For fucks sake, dude," Tyler nearly threw his own notebook at the hero. "You're a target for some crazed maniac, and your sole concern is a date? Tell them you'll be late."

"Listen, he isn't going to do anything," Evan sputtered without thinking.

"What are you talking about," Tyler narrowed his eyes at the man. "How do you know?"

"Because this is Delirious we're talking about," the hero started off warily. He rubbed his pen with the pad of his thumb, watching the plastic bend in his hand. "Knowing him, he'd probably send a birthday cake to the mayor at six. Why would he bother to give a date and time but no location? He's bluffing."

"To purposely sabotage you on your date?" Tyler scoffed. "Shut the hell up, Evan. What's he bluffing for?"

"It's Delirious. How should I know?"

But truth of the matter was, Delirious gave a location. It first started two weeks ago with a card in Evan's mail. No post, no return address, no name. Just three lines:

Next Thursday  
6:00 pm  
The Pavilion

Unsure of what to make of it, Evan placed it on his kitchen table and forgot about it. The week passed by quietly without a hitch until Friday morning when Marcel called him at three in the morning to report a prison break.

"Only about half the inmates were released," Marcel said. "Records erased and everything. The guards say it was Delirious, I don't know what to believe," he sighed, exhaustion heavy on his eyelids. "He left this, too." And he handed Evan a white card.

Next Thursday, Night Owl. 6:00pm, don't forget it.

He slipped the card into his back pocket and called it a night. Told Marcel to get some rest, while he tried not to think too much about it as the pit of his stomach brewed with a cold unsettling feeling. He fucked up.

The rest of the week to come was a struggle. Delirious made a point to constantly remind Evan. Day after day, chaos.

"Do you really have to do this?" Evan asked him before Delirious could make a clean break away whilst during a bank heist.

"Yes," the masked man answered. "And you better not fucking forget. 6:00pm, at The Pavilion, Evan." He looked like he wanted to say more but he only slowly backed away. "6:00pm, sharp. Be there." And with that, he left Evan alone in the ruins of what used to be the bank.

He kept a close eye on the clock and watched with dread as the minute hand marched on, only half listening as his three companions shot ideas off of one another. He wouldn't make it.

"I'm sorry, Evan," Brock said. "I know you had plans, but Tyler's right. I don't think we can take any risks tonight."

Evan said nothing, made no argument. How could he? He sealed his lips, nursed an apology on the tip of his tongue for Jonathan. Slashed it, rewrote it, rearranged it, thought of a new one, and then discarded it. He fucked up beyond repair. By the time they deemed the city safe (for now), the clock read 8:15.

He arrived at The Pavilion about half an hour later, with fingers tied into a knot with his tie despite his tardiness. Doubtful hope clung onto him. The restaurant was near empty, and no one looked remotely like Jonathan. Still, he asked the hostess anyway.

"He gave up his table not ten minutes after he sat down," she said. He thanked her, left his tie in a bundled mess, and left the restaurant.

Of course.

He felt aimless, and meandered around the city. He realized, knowing Delirious, that he should look out for havoc; that he should be Night Owl and not just Evan but his heart was elsewhere.

Instead, he tried to figure out a way to properly apologize to Jonathan. Something with flowers (maybe), a lot of chocolate (probably), and a mountain of teddy bears (absolutely), alongside a promise that he could actually keep.

Evan cursed himself, lost in a storm of thoughts he barely noticed when he bumped into someone. He stuttered out an apology, hand firm around their waist to balance them and he froze when his eyes landed upon a familiar set of blue ones.

"Oh, look who it is," Jonathan giggled, pulling himself up on Evan's shoulder. "It's owl boy, finally ready to bless me with his presence. To whom do I owe this great pleasure to? I was starting to think that you thought you were too good for me."

Evan stared at the man in front of him. The brunet could barely stand on two feet, eyes glassy and distant. He was lush, cheeks bright red with lips swollen. His tie and top two buttons were undone with both his jacket and shirt wrinkled as if he fell asleep with them on.

"You're drunk," Evan said helplessly.

Jonathan laughed, loud and boisterous with a hint of his signature maniacal chuckle laced underneath. "Tell me something I don't know, _Owl_." He said the name with a snarl. Evan frowned, and Jonathan unhooked himself from the hero's arms. "Well, this has been an abso-fucking-lutely lovely reunion but clearly, you have better things to do, so I'll leave."

"Jon, wait," Evan grabbed the man again, only for Jonathan to shrug him off. He stumbled a little with the force, struggling to keep balanced but he managed with an arm pushed out. "Listen, I tried, I really tried to make it on time but things just—"

"Save it, Evan," Jonathan slurred, taking a step back. He stared at the hero for a moment, lips parted to say something but changing his mind. "Just leave me be." He shook his head and turned. Not two steps and he suddenly found himself caught in Evan's arm again.

"I can't leave you alone," Evan said while Jonathan found his balance again. "Not when you're like this. You can barely walk a straight line. You can barely even hold yourself up."

"Your point?"

"I'm taking you home."

"No you're not," Jonathan snapped his wrist away. "Not in your goddamn dreams. Not anymore," he muttered, slowly backing away. His back hit a street lamp and he wrapped himself around it, bending over just to dry heave but stopped himself with a hand against his stomach and hand over his mouth. "I'm okay, I'm alright," he mumbled, unwinding himself from his coil.

"I'm taking you home," Evan said again, peeling Jonathan off the pole, bringing the brunet's arm over his shoulder. Jonathan silently accepted his aid, head against his own shoulder and despite his state of mind, he tried hard not to lean too much against Evan.

They walked in silence for a while.

"Do you ever think about me?" Jonathan murmured, so quietly Evan almost didn't hear him. "Wondered what I was up to, how I was doing or something. Anything?" When he said nothing, Jonathan laughed. "Lie to me, Evan. Just tell me I mattered to you."

"I'm not lying, but you really mattered a lot to me, Jon."

"Reverse psychology," the brunet grinned, head lulling to rest into Evan's shoulder. "Nice. I like it."

"You're drunk," Evan said again.

"And you're a rigid cocky son of a bitch who thinks he's too good for me with the illusion that he actually gave a fuck about me once upon a time," Jonathan retorted. "What else is new?"

"You really think that?" Evan muttered with a small frown. He tightened his grip on the other.

Jon snorted. "You can put on your mask, Evan, and play some charades, play the role of the nation's hero, but you never truly cared about me."

"Now, that's really not true."

"Exhibit A of the nation's hero with his head so far up his own ass he actually believes himself," Jon giggled to himself, hand reaching up to grasp at Evan's blazer to hide himself in the fabric. "If you actually cared about me, you wouldn't have left me high and dry."

Evan tried to pull him closer, the guilt gnawing at the bottom of his heart. He bit it down, fingers feeling Jonathan's own jacket for distraction.

"You're the one who told me not to leave you," Jonathan quietly reminded him. "It's been two fucking years and I still remember it like it was last night. Two years and I'm still hung up on you like an idiot."

His knuckles cracked, the sound popping the momentary silence between them. Evan couldn't say anything. He wanted to say something, but the art of conjuring proper words failed him. Instead, he picked up his pace with Jonathan in tow.

"Slow—" Jonathan pulled back. "Slow down. I can't walk in a straight line, and jogging's not going to help."

"Sorry," Evan murmured.

"I don't really think you are," Jonathan retorted. The silence consumed him, but nothing useful came into Evan's mind so he let it roll out.

Jonathan broke it instead, with a meek, "There was this guy at the bar." Jonathan shifted away from Evan again. "Really cute, with the prettiest lips I've ever seen, I mean really," he continued. "Had a lot of interest me, and he offered to take me home. No matter how much I wanted to say yes to him, I only thought about you," he laughed, broken and bitter. "Why am I like this?"

Evan wanted to offer another apology. He feared that it would mean nothing and kept it for himself. Instead, he reached a hand up to comb through dark brown strands and eased Jonathan's head onto his shoulder.  
The rest of the walk remained silent until they reached Jonathan's apartment.

"Well, this is me," Jonathan gestured vaguely to his door as if Evan had never seen it before. As if they just came back from a date. As if they had just met for the first time. He fumbled with his keys as he unlatched himself from his lover. "Good night, Evan."

The man stood in front of the painted white metal door, watched as Jonathan slipped away and watched as it closed behind him. Evan stood there. The lights flicked on. He waited.

Against his better judgment, Evan rang the doorbell. Minutes passed, but he waited. Soon enough, the door pried open to a wary disgruntled Jonathan.

"I want to make this right," Evan said. "I know I fucked up. You probably hate me, but trust me when I say this, I really want to try—"

"It's too late, Evan," Jonathan replied. "Forget about it. I was an idiot to believe that we could've been something." As he went to close the door again, Evan jammed his foot in. "Evan," Jonathan rubbed his eyes. "I'm tired. I hate that you always give me false hope. Can we stop this already? I admit that I was wrong trying to provoke you like that but—"

"Just let me try," Evan took Jonathan's hands into his own. "Just one chance. Tomorrow. 6:00 pm, my place."

Jonathan hesitated. He looked at the hero, fingers curling around Evan's. He held onto him tightly, and Evan held back. "You fucker," he muttered quietly and tightened his grip as if the other could disappear at any moment.

"Just think about it," Evan said. "Tomorrow, 6:00 pm, at my place." Then, he brought their hands up to his lips and he kissed the heel of Jonathan's hand. He watched the brunet; glazed blue eyes and wistful parted lips. Evan held tighter and kissed his knuckles. "Think about it," he murmured against his skin, thumb massaging circles into the other's hand. "Good night, Jon."

And just like that, he slipped away. A small wave, a meek smile as if he asked his lover for a second date and they said yes. He shoved his hands into his pockets and fled.


	2. Chapter 2

Evan paced around in his living room, occasionally checking the clock. 5:45. He felt certain that Jonathan wouldn't show up. A kind of revenge for the past two weeks, and Evan couldn't be mad but the same doubtful hope he had outside the Pavilion clung onto him. 

He left the office early that day and made it a point to the boys not to call him, "Even if the city's in shambles," he said. He received little to no demur from Marcel and Brock. The latter giving him a small apology for keeping him behind the day before.

Tyler, on the other hand, was affronted by the situation. "You're still dating that fucker?" He said when Evan told him why. "So long as he's not blowing shit up left and right, I guess." The hero told him to shut up with hot shame buried in the back of his neck, and denied Tyler's suspicions. 

He cursed the man's instincts, and never fled the office so quick.

When six finally hit, Evan found himself on the couch nervously digging his nails into the palms of his hands. No knock on the door. He bit his lip. Of course.

He spent most of the day preparing for the date, reaching back into dusty crevasses of his memory to remember what Jonathan liked. What they used to like, together. Candle lights, and a home cooked meal on a small white table top.

6:02, Evan looked at his watch again and stared at the door. He wrung his hands, counted to ten and got up. He paced around some more, trying to think of something else to get his mind off the time. Doubtful hope still clung onto him, and with one last glance at the door he headed into his kitchen to start on dinner.

Back when they were together, their dates usually consisted of two things: coffee dates at Luke's and home cooked meals. It was enough, for the two of them. 

At least, that's how Evan felt. Jonathan never demurred against it, if he ever felt anything against it. Between fixing and saving the world, Evan admitted that Jonathan took the backseat but it was hard when said man was the one who made Evan a job to protect the city. Neither of them could argue against it.

The time was nearly 7:00 when he heard the doorbell ring. Evan shoved the pan into his oven and ran for the door, discarding his apron on a kitchen chair. He took a quick breath and opened it to reveal Jonathan, clad in a different suit than yesterday without a single crease in it. The brunet stood there, hands wrung against a wine bottle.

Glassy blue eyes stared at him before prying away to his feet. Jonathan bit his lips.

"You're here," Evan said, a little breathlessly. He pushed the door wider, a silent invitation as he took a step back but Jonathan stayed put.

"I am," the man retorted. "I'm surprised you even waited."

"I'm just glad you came at all," Evan smiled softly. The brunet tightened his grip on the bottle, eyes averted. The hero's chest swelled with a kind of longing and want he forgot about long ago. He placed his hands on Jonathan's, thumb grazing the back of the man's hand. "Come in." He tugged his resistant guest in. "Just make yourself at home, like you usually do. We've done this a million times before."

"A million times," Jonathan echoed, feet dragging. "It feels like a million years." Evan closed the door behind him, an apology resting on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed. "I bought pinot noir," Jonathan handed the bottle to Evan.

Their fingers brushed as Evan took it. Jonathan retracted away, as if it were too hot but Evan interlaced their hands and brought the brunet's fingers to his lips and murmured a thanks.

"You ass," Jonathan muttered when Evan lingered much too long. 

"Make yourself at home," he said again before he wandered off to the kitchen. When he came back with two filled wine glasses in tow, he found Jonathan taking a small walk around the living room, examining pictures on the walls and sculptures placed about. He offered a glass to the brunet, who took it gratefully and immediately downed half of it.

Evan thumbed his glass nervously, watched as Jonathan roamed his eyes around the room. 

"Everything's different," Jonathan said.

"Is that good or bad?" Evan asked, hiding behind his own glass of wine.

"Neither. Just different," the brunet shrugged. "You've never had these photos before." He pointed to the few mounted on the wall above the couch. Framed pictures of friends, family, and select shots of the city. "When did you get them?"

"Oh god, when did I get them," Evan muttered to himself. "Probably a year and a half. It feels like I've had them for forever." Brock was the one who gave the suggestion to fill the white walls. He said it gave a cozier feel; made home feel more like home. While Evan neither agreed nor disagreed, he admitted to liking the aesthetics but he never paid much attention to them anyway. They just filled the space on the walls.

"It's been that long, huh?" Jonathan downed the rest of his wine. "It looks nice," he commented with a small nod; a small twisted expression on his face that Evan couldn't decipher. Jonathan turned away. 

"Jon, are you okay?" The brunet turned back to look at Evan. Same glassy blue eyes he saw behind the door stared at him. "Should I get you some water?" Evan bit his lips, thumbing his glass again because he was suddenly aware of how full it was. 

"No, I'm good," Jonathan murmured, looking down at his own glass. "More wine would be great, though. What's for dinner?" Evan guided him over to the dining table, where the dark green bottle stood. He pulled the chair out for Jonathan, and filled the man's glass a quarter's way.

Jonathan pursed a small frown, swirled the liquid before taking a small sip. 

"I still have some stuff in the oven but dinner's almost done, I swear," Evan said. "So just make yourself comfy for now. It'll just be like old times," he smiled softly before he headed back into the kitchen.

"Old times, huh?" Jonathan careened his neck to see Evan disappearing. He poured himself more wine; until the glass was nearly full. "Please don't tell me you're serving pizza."

"Give me some credit, come on," Evan said from the kitchen, a small pinch of offense tucked behind his voice. Jonathan grinned to himself, hidden behind a propped hand. "The last time I checked, you didn't have an issue with pizza. What changed?"

"Did you really drag me out all this way for fucking _pizza_?"

"Of course not," Evan scoffed, walking back in with two plates. "Who do you take me for."

"Parmesan?" Jonathan looked at the plates. Breaded chicken topped with melted cheese and tomato sauce, set on top of spaghetti with a side of caesar. "You know, somehow, that was my second guess. I mean, after fettuccine and alfredo." 

"Close enough," Evan grinned, setting down a plate in front of Jonathan and the other in front of himself. He took a seat for himself. 

Jonathan stared at the man, hiding behind his hands with pursed lips and eyes of scrutiny. Evan shifted in his seat, soft brown barely able to meet Jon's sharp blue. 

"What are you thinking about?" He finally asked, his own hands forming a bridge, near mirroring his companion. 

"Nothing," Jonathan replied, looking away to find his fork. "Just..." He started, but stopped. "Nothing," he said again, pushing the chicken aside for some pasta. "So," he began instead. "How's the 'department' doing? Marcel hadn't died of an aneurysm because of you, right?" 

"What— because of _me_?" Evan sounded incredulous, but he softened when he saw the corner of Jonathan's lip quirk. "He's doing just fine, and I'm not giving him head aches, thank you."

"Glad to hear," Jonathan laughed. 

"What about Luke and Ryan?" Evan asked, grabbing his knife and fork before finally digging in to his dinner. "They're still doing alright?" 

"They're," Jonathan sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Good. Great, really. Annoying, but what else is new. They're about ready to run me out of my own apartment." Evan raised a brow, and Jonathan continued, "Luke doesn't want to move into a new apartment with Ryan because he doesn't want to leave me alone, so Ryan basically lives with us. I see them both at work and at home, and... you know?"

Jonathan gave Evan a look he knew all too well. The same look he used to give whenever he saw Luke and Ryan together back when they had dates at Luke's cafe. A mix of support and disgust quietly blended together. He loved them both but the sight of them together was sickeningly sweet. 

Evan bit his tongue. A useless suggestion swirled on his mind, _stay with me instead_. He washed it down with wine and cleared his throat. 

The rest of dinner rolled by quietly, small conversations and the bottle of wine wasted down between the two of them. The tip of Jonathan's ears turned into the slightest bit of pink, alongside his cheeks but he finally stopped nursing his glass. He had shrugged out of his blazer and draped it on the chair behind him.

"I'll help you with the dishes," Jonathan said when they were finished, throwing used cutlery into the dishes before he took it into the kitchen. Evan thought of the mess he left back there and immediately jumped up.

"You don't need to," he said, trying to take the dishes back but Jonathan stopped him with a finger pointed to his chest.

"Just like old times, you said," he poked Evan's chest. The hero rubbed the spot sorely. "It's the least I can do. I wash, you dry?"

Evan wanted to dissent, but Jonathan already started filling the sink with water. The hero acquiesced, taking the spot next to the brunet with a dish towel at hand.

"Would it just kill you to soak the damn pans?" Jonathan shot a sharp look to the man as he rolled up his sleeves. "Every time I think you've changed, you're more similar than I remember."

"Just like old times?" Evan said. Jonathan lightly punched him before he started washing. Evan didn't miss the small grin on his lips. 

"You're horrible," Jonathan retorted. "You should feel horrible."

"But I don't, because you were adamant on cleaning," Evan grinned back at him, taking the first freshly cleaned bowl Jonathan offered. "But you really don't have to if you don't want to."

"I want to," Jonathan quietly admitted, scrubbing the pan. "It reminds me of us. Of what we used to be."

Evan dried the bowl, taking his time. Listened to the soft squeaks before he meekly placed the bowl into his dish rack. He bit his tongue and thought about his words. "Do you miss it?"

Jonathan set down all that he held. "Of course I do, Evan," he said, casting a look to the other. Soft watery blue eyes that cut Evan deep. "That's why I'm here. That's why I sent you that card. I miss it." He leaned against him, forehead pressed into the other's shoulder. "I miss you."

Evan glanced down at him. Jonathan looked distant and sad, and Evan didn't know what to do. The only consolation he could give was an arm wrapped around him. Before long, Jonathan pulled back and went back to washing the dishes, handing every wet item over to Evan who quietly wiped it clean.

"Let's go back outside," Jonathan broke the silence. Before Evan finished with the last dish, Jonathan had already wandered out. Evan followed suit moments later only to find Jonathan in front of the table, looking away at a wall. His hands wrung around the neck of the bottle, lips worried between his teeth. 

"You don't have to forgive me."

Evan's voice snapped Jonathan's attention. The brunet gave a small jump and looked over at the hero. Those fucking eyes. Evan dug his fingers into his palms.

"Jon, I fucked up. I know that. But when I said you meant everything to me, I meant it. You deserved better. Fuck, you deserve the whole entire world on a gold platter. All I can offer you is a shitty apology."

"You don't mean that." Jonathan turned around. His arms folded and he leaned against the table. 

"I do. I mean all of it, you deserve everything," Evan breathed as he closed the gap between them. He unfolded the brunet's arms, taking his hands into his own and kissed them. 

"You don't," Jonathan said again. "If I really deserve the world, then you'd let Delirious get everything he wants. But you don't." 

Evan stared at him before he let a small laugh escape. He buried his face into Jonathan's chest, arms wrapping around him. "I meant you as in Jonathan."

Jonathan allowed his own arms to slither around Evan. He rested them on the hero's shoulder. His lips curled the slightest bit at the corners. Evan couldn't tell what was on his mind. Their foreheads pressed together, Jonathan cupping Evan's face with both his hands. 

"You fuck," the brunet said. Evan couldn't think straight when Jonathan leaned in. It took a moment for it to set in. It was so quick, Evan barely even got a taste of him. Warm lips, bitter and tangy from the wine, gone too soon. He stood there, stiff, trying to decipher his reality. 

Jonathan grinned at him, almost shy. "Don't look at me like that."

Evan didn't even realize he made a face. But when he leaned in, Jonathan met him half way and kissed him again. He felt a swelling in his chest, a forgotten feeling revived and he only just then realized how much he really missed Jonathan.

He surged forth, almost pushing Jonathan into the table. Wine glasses shook, one tipped over. He cursed, pulling away to tend to the spilled drink but Jonathan pulled him back. Worry about it in the morning, he said before he tugged Evan by the collar. He lead the hero down the corridors all the while his fingers worked at stubborn buttons. Forgotten territory slowly reclaimed as hands traveled.

Clothes trailed their path. Evan slammed his bedroom door shut only as an afterthought while Jonathan bit his ear, fingers tracing the line of his collarbone. The brunet pushed him over. The hero fell back onto his bed, breathless. He stared up at Jonathan, chuckling as Jonathan crawled over, working his way out of his own shirt.

Evan kissed his neck, and he swore he heard the brunet purr. Jonathan pinned him down, a languid finger drawing the side of his face and curling his hair. 

The brunet reached under the pillows, feeling around and when he came up empty, he glanced at Evan. "It's been a while," the hero admitted before re-directing him to the nightstand drawer. Jonathan hummed, and Evan quieted him with his lips. Nonetheless, the brunet goes through the drawer until he found a bottle and a small foil packet.

Jonathan spent the rest of the night with quivering thighs, rolling between the sheets with Evan, gaining and losing control. White knuckles grasped desperately at crisp white sheets while he breathed the hero's name into pillows. Evan littered affectionate kisses all over his body to alleviate aches while Jonathan cursed him and left his own marks on Evan's neck. 

Satisfied red lines left a trail down his back. Jonathan traced it lightly while Evan trapped him underneath his arm. He enjoyed his work of art, Jonathan grinned to himself. He tucked an arm underneath the pillow, trying for a better view to see Evan's face. 

Evan turned to face Jonathan. "I'm sorry," he murmured, softly. Voice raspy and tired.

"What?" Jonathan laughed, pulling his hand back. "What are you— It wasn't _that_ bad." He covered his face, curling into himself. Evan couldn't help but laugh along to the familiar chuckle. "It wasn't bad at all."

"No. I meant," Evan started. He stopped to pull Jonathan's hand away from his face, the clown still trying to calm his laugh. Evan interlaced their hands together, resting it between them. "I meant that I never actually apologized to you. So I just wanted to say it. I'm sorry."

Jonathan breathed a small breath, smile ghosting on his lips. He kissed Evan on the lips. "Sleep." 

"You'll still be here when I wake up?" Evan looked at fluttering blue eyes, wistful. Jonathan answered with another kiss. "Don't leave me," Evan said.

"Go to sleep." 

Evan looked at the brunet. Tired blue eyes, complimented with his lopsided grin, brown hair tussled and brushed back. He kissed Evan's hand. Evan sighed, burrowing closer to Jonathan and closed his eyes. He liked the way Jonathan combed through his hair, the scent of the ocean encompassing him. 

When Evan woke, the warmth and smell lingered but the spot next to him was empty. He scrambled out of bed, hearing the hurried footsteps and trying to race them. Clothes haphazardly thrown on, the front door clicked shut when he stepped out of his room. He ran to open it, catching only the shadow of Jonathan slipping away. 

He stayed back, an emptiness feeling like a black hole inside of him. Two knocked over wine glasses stared at him in disapproval, the contents of his third glass mocking on the table cloth. 

Jonathan's blazer hung quietly on the spine of his chair, hanging by the tag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hEY. s orry for not posting for like almost half a year h eh ha school has been a struggle, but im free for another week until I'm in back school so !! here is another chapter o vo !! hopefully the next part won't take as long
> 
> follow my on tumblr @milktoast-y and send me prompts maybe??

**Author's Note:**

> im a slut for hero aus so here i am orz  
> i've been playing around with this idea for a while and decided to post this in three parts instead of a oneshot  
> let me know what you think!! comments/critiques are greatly appreciated, thank you for reading!


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